jessica S. frank

Jessica S. Frank currently lives in Louisiana as she completes her MFA from McNeese State University. Her work has appeared in Portage Magazine, Eunoia Review, Gold Dust Magazine, Silver Birch Press, and is forthcoming at Ninth Letter Online.

the way into my pants

isn’t through descriptive sex talkand leading questions,What do you want to do to me?Do you want to watch me right now?I’ll Skype you.

And it isn’t by asking mewhat my best friend’s name isso you can look her up andpotentially hook up with her.

And it isn’t throughrude insulting words,after I deny your pleadsfor something that can onlybe classified as fun for you.

When you say goodnightand I say it back with an anecdote,your reply of “Didn’t ask”won’t open my legs, it won’t undo my flyit won’t trick the dragon guarding the draw bridgeinto a deep sleep so you can storm the castle.No, this princess doesn’t need you,there are plenty of more-honorable menout there, waiting to have their way with me.

You are merely flexing your off-putting,woman-come-please-me, girls-like-assholesuninformed muscles;the kind manufactured by a late nightsausage-fest of buddies at the bar,once you’ve insulted all of yourfemale prospects away and talk abouthow they were all probably lesbians.

Please accept this teachable momentfrom me:the one with the breasts and warmmoist caverns you’d like to visit,the one with the good-smelling hairand smooth skin, the one with thetalented mouth you’d like to be in.

The only organs youwill be using with me tonightare your eyes,watching me sign off.